


unstill life

by drowsilybearzerk



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Found Family, M/M, Modeling, Morosexual Lio Fotia, Platonic Relationships, Romance Novels As A Plot Object, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsilybearzerk/pseuds/drowsilybearzerk
Summary: Lio Fotia is a struggling artist who signed on to illustrate a cover for what's supposed to be the most anticipated romance novel of the year.There's a slight problem with that: Lio wouldn't know romance if it knocked him on his face.
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	unstill life

**Author's Note:**

> this was honest to god originally supposed to be JUST artist/model galolio, but the romance novel idea has not left my head so this is what it's come to. shout to chloeroseart for continually helping me beta this chapter, and here's to many more!

It wasn't for any particular love of the coffee they served that Lio found himself at this cafe every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. The coffee was passable (it certainly had enough caffeine to keep him awake), but the lighting was good (not too warm, but just warm enough), and the business was slow enough that he could sprawl his sketchbook and pencils on a table in the corner and remain unbothered. Plus, on a day like this, where the rain came down in icy cold sheets, there were few other options. There was just one tiny problem:

Lio Fotia had no idea what to do.

Lio was no stranger to artist's block, no stranger to a lack of inspiration, but this was particularly bad timing. He had finally, finally, received an offer for a job - drawing romance novel covers, but they liked his style, and if it meant straying away from the poorly photoshopped swill that plagued grocery store shelves, then so be it. But now, after spending months of commissions and tattoos and wedding gifts and filling up his portfolio, he'd run dry. No matter how he drew the couple, it didn't look right. They looked stilted, like they weren't fit for each other, paired together in a marriage of convenience ( _ the convenience being his paycheck, damn it all _ ) rather than one of love and passion.

For obvious reasons, that simply would not do.

Lio had stayed a little later in the cafe than usual (okay, about 3 hours later), which resulted in several concerned text messages from his roommates, causing his phone to buzz incessantly.

🏈{if this is actually lio, tell me wat the birthmark on my left asscheek looks like]

Fucking Gueira. (Lio meant it fondly. But still.) He pulled out his phone and typed up a reply.

Brief spellcheck, send.

[you know damn well if you have one I've repressed that memory.}

🏈{it is you!]

The next 3 texts were paragraphs full of emojis, slowly sent one after another.

🏈{meis was worried]

🤠{Gueira is going to tell u i was worried but hes covering for himself]

[Wow, so you wouldn't miss me, Meis?}

Lio could absolutely take the time away from this sketch to fuck around with Meis.

🤠{boss that is supremely untrue]

[No takebacks, Meis.}

🏈{cringe, babe.]

Lio snickered before his eyes glanced over the scattering of rejected thumbnails. The shenanigans had offered him a brief repose, but it still weighed heavily on his mind. If he failed this, well -- he might find work again, sure. But his first contract and he already risked missing a deadline? He was already getting paid, but at the very least, he would be able to afford, well... non-generic pasta, maybe. Even fix up some of the plumbing. Toilet paper that didn't feel like sandpaper?

🤠{so why the long hours?]

Gueira had stopped texting, most likely because Meis took his phone.

[Work. I'm still coming up with a concept for that cover.}

🤠{still cant believe you arent getting to make a cover for, i dont know, Fingerbanged By A Billionaire Train (And Its Consensual)]

Lio typed several things, deleted several things, took a few good minutes to marvel at the absolute bullshit he was looking at (and that was distracting him further).

[I literally cannot imagine why you would put those words in that combination in front of me, Meis. What the fuck?}

🤠{its an actual book]

[That didn't answer my question.}

🤠{im just saying, if youre going to draw book covers........]

[I'm ending this conversation before you find something better. I'll be heading out in 30 minutes, I just need to clean up my area.}

🤠{see ya boss! 🤪🤪]

God.

Lio was going to think about that all goddamn night. If he'd even had any ideas before, they were wiped clean now. (He loved Meis and Gueira -- they were his family -- but that didn't mean they didn't drive him mad sometimes.)

(Okay, more than sometimes. Okay, most of the time. But Lio wouldn't trade them for anything.)

It wasn't like he was getting very far. All he had was the Island of Misfit Book Covers, and he was the elf that didn't go to elf practice. (Though his biological family might have liked him better if he'd become a dentist. Instead, he was an artist.)

With that, Lio gathered his supplies up -- loose papers in the portfolio folder, and gathered the rest of his pencils and rulers, throwing them unceremoniously in a drawstring bag. His coffee was cold by now, but in desperation and the knowledge that he would be working on his concepts when he got home, he downed the rest of it. It was awful, and he winced, but he just needed something to get the job done. He scooped his folder under his arm and tossed his bag over his shoulder. After throwing away the paper cup, he offered a wave goodbye to the barista, and he stepped outside. The sun was already starting to set, peeking through the clouds, the rain hadn't let up much, and it dawned on Lio exactly why Meis and Gueira were getting worried. He'd lost track of time. He stood at the doorway of the coffee shop, rolling up his sleeve to check his watch, and --

Felt himself get shoulder checked. Lio jumped out of his skin, and his folder fell to the ground, papers flying around. The folder took him down with it, in a cruel act of irony. It would be poetic, almost, if he wasn't on the ground. There were a few pluses, insomuch that nothing of worth was destroyed by the water, but he didn't appreciate getting up close and personal with concrete.

"Oh, man -- I'm so sorry! I really wasn't paying attention," came a voice -- sort of deep, bashful, but Lio paid little attention. He had to get his things and get going before he was embarrassed any further.

"It's fine. But you really need to watch where you’re going," Lio said, his voice curt.

"Here, let me help you," the man (Lio was assuming, though he could just as easily be wrong) said.

"No, I just said it's fine --"

The stranger had already started to help gather up the papers before Lio could protest further -- an act he was ready to tell him off for -- only to actually come face to face with the stranger.

Tan skin, deep blue eyes, matching stark blue hair (likely dyed, but anymore it was hard to tell). A strong jaw. Like a sculpture.

He was beautiful.

But that didn’t really change the fact that he had knocked Lio over.

"You're an idiot, aren't you?" Swift, to the point -- it wasn’t like he was wrong.

"So I've been told!" Out of the corner of his eye, Lio could see the stranger grin as they straightened out the papers they gathered. "But if trying to help people makes me an idiot, I'll be an idiot all day."

"It would be more helpful if you hadn’t run into me," Lio said matter-of-factly, picking himself off the ground.

"Probably." The stranger shrugged. He offered a hand to Lio, but Lio made no motion to take it and instead stood on his own. The stranger instead flipped through the sketches, which was rude enough on its own. “Did you draw these? They look great!”

“No,” Lio said, sarcasm thick on his tongue. “I stole them.”

“Wow, uh--” 

“I was joking. Yes, they’re mine. Though I’m not sure how much use I’ll get out of them now.” Said pointedly. How soaked they were, Lio couldn’t tell.

"Sorry again about your drawings. You must have worked really hard on them, right?" Lio pursed his lips together in response. He had, but...

"They're not very good. Not where I want them to be, anyway."

The stranger had stood up in response, and Lio was immediately struck with how much taller he was. Not that Lio himself was very tall.

"So? Hard work is the path to greatness! No one is perfect the first time. Let your determination burn away your doubts, and push forward with the fire from within! That effort is worth the time spent alone!" He crossed his arms, though noticeably careful not to wrinkle the sheets he had picked up. Lio stared blankly. There was no way this guy was this earnest.

"Unless I can put something together worthwhile, not really," Lio said, brushing himself off. "In any case, I should get going before my roommates start to think I've genuinely been kidnapped." Lio offered him a lazy wave and started to walk towards the sidewalk. He was all too eager to be done with this interaction.

"Wait -- here, these aren't so damaged, let me give them back to you," Lio heard the stranger's footsteps in the puddles behind him and turned around in response. Almost ungracefully, the blue-haired man shoved towards Lio the papers he'd collected from the ground. And for whatever reason, he was right. They didn't look that soaked -- it was nothing a few hours of sunlight couldn't fix. And maybe, he hoped, there was something worth salvaging. As Lio reached to grab the papers, their fingers brushed across each other. Lio slowly pulled the papers away, and clumsily shuffled them into his portfolio folder.

"I've got a good feeling about you!" Lio genuinely couldn't figure out why the stranger said that. "My name is Galo Thymos. Maybe we'll come across each other again?"

"Lio Fotia. And this is by no means a small city. I wouldn't count on it." Lio coughed awkwardly. "But, thank you for helping with the papers. Goodbye."

With that experience over with, Lio turned away and made his way home.

* * *

The trip home was, graciously, not so eventful, but plenty cold. Promepolis had plenty of public transit, but that didn’t mean these busses used any sort of heating. The chill bit through his shirt, and while the rain had let up by the time he'd made any serious headway, Lio was still left wishing he'd remembered his jacket. Remembered his folder, his supplies, his phone -- did not remember the one thing keeping him from being bedridden. It would be fine, though. Probably. Likely.

Lio knew the odds of it being fine were slim, and that thought process was going to kick him in the ass and drag him like he publicly fucked up on social media (though in fewer words) but still! Fine. Peachy. Ducky, one might say.

The lights were all off in his cozy (read:  _ not _ ) apartment by the time he stepped through the door. It wasn’t that late, but the clouds obscured any sunset that might have otherwise lit up the place. It was also just as likely that Meis was in a  _ mood _ , and the dark helped him write songs or  _ something _ . Lio's firm opinion on that was that the darkness would help Meis need hideous old man glasses at a very young age, but he just didn't, like, get the process,  _ maaaan _ . (Though in their more casual moments, Meis's inherited Southwestern twang would slip through.)

"I'm home," Lio announced, hopefully not catching Meis and Gueira in a more intimate moment. Had the trio seen each other naked? Yes. Obviously. Did he want to actively interrupt them prowling around like cats in heat? No.

Lio attempted to flick a light on, only for it to do... nothing. He could catch the dim glow of the microwave from the kitchen, and he knew they'd paid the electricity bill, so it couldn't be that the power was shut off. Did the living room ceiling bulb burn out?

"Anyone else?" He called out again, while he shuffled his feet carefully through the living room, trying to feel around for any furniture before he took another dive towards the ground. Once was enough for today. He slowly approached the couch, and his eyes were suddenly filled with light. Painful, painful light.

The light pulled away, leaving flashes of color in his vision, but also let him see his would-be assailant. Gueira lounged on the couch like some French girl, a flashlight pointed at his face like he was about to tell a scary story. He very thankfully had some blue camouflage sweatpants on, though no shirt.

"Hey, boss! What'll you have first? Dinner, a bath, or me?" Gueira grinned.

"Neither," Lio deadpanned.

"Ouch! That rough a day, huh?"

"That, and I'm sure Meis wouldn't be delighted to hear you chasing after other men."

"If he managed to get another guy, I'd actually be sort of impressed," Meis shouted from another room.

"Unfortunately, you are not going to be impressed today," Lio called out in response. Gueira pouted on the couch.

"Wow. And I thought you two liked me for my  _ raw sexual charisma _ ."

"I like you for many things, Gueira! I don't know that your charisma is one of them," Meis said, his voice getting closer as he apparently decided to stop shouting from across the apartment and meet in the living room like a  _ family _ . Meis was also, thankfully, wearing clothes -- though just a pair of grey boxer-briefs and an oversized black t-shirt they nabbed from a thrift store, reading: “ _ Fish Want Me, Women Fear Me _ .” It was probably Gueira’s at one point.

"So did the lightbulb finally go?" There was that, or one of them had broken it.

"Yes, as all things do. Your mother and I didn't want to tell you this, but we've actually been replacing it for the past 20 years -- ow!" In the time it took Gueira to concoct that story, Lio had already found a pillow from the floor (haphazardly kicked off in Gueira's shenanigans, more than likely) and thwapped him with it. "Anyway, yeah. The hardware shop that doesn't ask whether or not Meis and his band have a permit for pyrotechnics closed early today, and we're still banned from the other hardware stores within the next 50 miles. And have you seen how much grocery stores charge for those things? It's insane. It's like they think they're curing cancer or some shit."

"So, it's just the living room light?" Lio stared into Meis and Gueira -- Meis, who was now leaning over his lover from behind their beat-up couch.

"Far as I can tell," Meis replied. There was a brief moment of silence. Lio sighed, and he shuffled around some more and clicked on the kitchen light. The living room was now somewhat lit, but it was better than the 'scary stories to tell in the dark' style lighting Gueira had used.

"Boooo," Meis said.

"Booooooo," Gueira echoed. "We could have had some serious campfire bonding time! Also, we haven't seen you like, all day, and your texts have been more curt than normal."

"Which," Meis started, walking around the couch and sitting on the arm of it. "We get it -- curt is how you talk. But if we know you --"

"-- And we do," Gueira interjected.

"Something is wrong," Meis finished expectantly. There were a few brief moments of silence

"Is this what all of this was about? Is the lightbulb actually dead?" Lio looked unamused, which was the opposite -- this was all actually sort of funny, but he didn't exactly want to talk about his ~feelings~ right now.

"Oh, no. The lightbulb is super dead. It stopped working, and I trickshotted it into the trash can where it shattered anyway, so even if it was fixable, it's not now," Gueira replied.

"But that is beside the point, Lio. You're moodier than usual. What's eating at you?" Meis straightened his back and crossed his arms. Lio briefly wondered if one of them would get to the door before he could make an escape. He rationalized that one, Gueira definitely could, and two, telling them wasn't going to kill him.

"I'm still having issues with the thumbnails for that contract. That's all," Lio said, stifling a yawn he didn't expect. "It's not a subject I'm used to." Meis uncrossed his arms and put his right hand on his waist, scratching his cheek with his left hand.

"Some romance thing, right? So why go for the contract at all?" Gueira had sat up, legs spread, and head rested on his knuckles.

"Not being used to something is no reason to avoid it," Lio replied. "If I stay in my comfort zone, I'll never improve." That, and it paid well. Extremely well. It wouldn't solve all their money-based issues, but it was a start. And if the company liked his work enough, there was a possibility that they would hire him again for something else.

Lio had been, from their late teens, the trio's voice of reason. Their unofficial leader. But as much as he kept things organized, Meis and Gueira had given him a place to belong. And even if they insisted there was no reason to pay them back, he wanted to make something more manageable. Broken light bulbs, shitty plumbing, he could handle all that, even if he lived on his own. (It was better than the alternative -- for Lio to crawl back to his biological family, and discard all of the things that made him  _ himself _ .)

But to give Meis and Gueira one less thing to worry about. That would be nice.

"Anyway, I'll figure it out. It's just going to require more work than usual," Lio said and physically waved the statement off, snapping out of his train of thought. Gueira raised an eyebrow. He seemed unconvinced.

"You have another job, you know that, right? Don't overwork yourself so much that you end up crashing," Gueira said. Lio looked offended. That was utterly unwarranted.

"We'll help you out any time, but I don't want you to land yourself in the hospital again," Meis added, with a distinct lack of playfulness. (Gueira’s statement was perhaps a little warranted.) "You do genuinely worry us sometimes."

"I'll be fine. Besides, you two worry me just as much." Lio smiled, unnoticeable to those who didn’t know to look for it. "What was that you were saying earlier, Gueira? Getting banned from all the hardware stores within a 50-mile radius?"

"Look," Meis started, looking defensive. "That was  _ art _ ."

"That was very nearly fatal." The flames were gorgeous, yes -- almost enough to make an arsonist of him again -- but also very illegal and very, very dangerous. Thyma had patience and luck in spades, thankfully. "But yes, art."

"Well, not like it'll happen again. Oh, speaking of dinner -- it was Gueira's turn. I think we put your plate in the microwave so it wouldn't get cold, but we were this close to putting it in the fridge if you hadn't come home, young man." Meis waggled a finger at Lio, lightheartedness settling back in.

"So he wasn't lying about dinner! Shock and awe."

"Yep! Made it from the old recipe book, and by that I mean the shit I stole from my grandma's cookbook before I left," Gueira said, looking proud of himself. Which, Lio thought to himself, he should. It may have not been his  _ life's work _ , as Gueira had said, and being a line cook took some of the fun out of it, but Gueira was genuinely good at cooking.

The book cover was still at the forefront of Lio's mind, but -- he was exhausted. And hungry. As much as he willed it, coffee did not substitute for all other meals or needs.

“Thanks, both of you,” Lio said.

He would have to work on the cover more later. That much Lio knew. But first, he needed to eat and spend some time with Gueira and Meis.


End file.
